


To Have and To Hold

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bottom!Erik, Charles You Slut, Infidelity, M/M, Weddings, have fun figuring out what's going on plot wise guys because I don't know either, top!Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wedding hasn't even started and Charles is already bored. When he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, he doesn't expect to find a gorgeous, stern-faced man having a quiet freak out at his reflection. He doesn't expect said gorgeous, stern-faced man to turn around and start climbing him like a tree. And he <i>certainly</i> doesn't expect to discover only after they've got their clothes back on that the man he just had glorious sex with is the groom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Have and To Hold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [widgenstain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/gifts).



> For widge, wishing her a belated happy birthday!! I hope you had a faaabulous one, friend, and that you enjoy my attempt at some smut with very little point to it.
> 
> Based on [this](http://widgenstain.tumblr.com/post/85144440087/trobador-what-was-i-thinking-wonders) prompt.
> 
> ETA: I can't believe I forgot to thank ourgirlfriday for the beta. Thank you, darling!

His tuxedo was stifling. The room was damnably hot, which Charles thought was rather ridiculous. The wedding planners had to have known that they’d be cramming almost four hundred people into this hall, and that keeping temperatures close to a toasty eighty degrees was going to result in someone fainting of heat stroke or simply bursting into flames in their seat. Maybe that was the plan, to encourage guests to keep the whole affair brief so they could all leave before they died. If so, Charles had to admire such artful manipulation, even if it was a bit heavy-handed.

He fussed at his cufflinks and his collar, trying to loosen something up so he could at least breathe. That earned him a slap on the thigh from Raven, who looked perfectly put-together in her light, flowing sundress. “Stop fidgeting.”

“It’s like a furnace in here,” he muttered back.

“Oh come on, it’s not that hot. You’re just looking for excuses to get out of here.”

Charles tugged at his too-tight bowtie and sighed. “I don’t know how you talked me into this. I don’t even know these people.”

“You think I don’t have better things to do with my Saturday afternoons?” Raven asked, a little sullenly. She’d been doing a good job of keeping up the cheerful façade all morning and only now was she beginning to let her own annoyance slip. “Mother said we had to be here, so we’re here. End of story.”

“Actually, Mother said _you_ had to be here, and then you dragged me along because you didn’t want to go alone.”

“True. But you’ve done the same to me before, and it’s not as if you had anything better to do.”

Charles had, in fact, had several things better to do than attend a stranger’s wedding. Hank wanted to re-analyze Cerebro’s data spreadsheets for the eighteenth time to search for errors _again_ , for one. There was a horrifically large stack of exam papers sitting on his desk waiting to be graded, for another. Plus, there was the _Star Trek_ marathon he’d been meaning to catch tonight, but he supposed it was a moot point by now. And Raven was right: he’d forced her to accompany him on more than one of his mother’s mandatory events, much to her displeasure. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

The ceremony was supposed to begin promptly at four-thirty, but most of the guests arrived at least an hour early to socialize. At three-twenty, one of the groomsmen appeared, hurried up the aisle, and bent over to speak to someone in the front row. Even from the middle of the assembly where he sat, Charles could make out the groomsman’s puckered brow, more than a little out of place at a supposedly happy occasion. _Please don’t let anyone be late_ , Charles thought. He didn’t want this to drag out any longer than it had to.

The groomsman disappeared again without a word to anyone. Charles sweltered in his seat for another minute, checked his watch, and got up.

“Where are you going?” Raven hissed, as if she honestly thought he was about to ditch her without a word. He was almost offended that she believed him capable of such disloyalty.

“To the bathroom,” he replied, batting at her grip on his jacket. “I’m going to splash some water on my face, I’ll be right back.”

The elderly couple beside him frowned as he shuffled past them to the aisle. He flashed them a pleasant smile that made them blink and headed out the side door at the back of the room.

Just stepping outside the overheated hall was a relief. He fanned himself with his hand as he glanced around for directions and eventually found a placard pointing him down a corridor to the left. Following it, he had to take three turns and nearly got lost on the third before finally finding the sign marked MEN. It was, naturally, marked out of order, so he had to traverse down another maze of halls before finally reaching a bathroom that seemed serviceable. Even the door handle was gilded down its length, which cemented Charles’ opinion that this hotel was really too enormous and lavish for its own good—exactly the sort of place his mother would like.

He opened the door, walked down yet another hallway, and was finally greeted with the sight of a row of pristinely white urinals next to several open and empty stalls. Across from them was a line of sinks and a man, bracing himself against one of them and obviously having something of a panic attack.

Charles winced at the sudden, awful roar of unregulated fear that battered up against his mental shields. He always made an effort to keep his mind closed around large crowds to avoid the inevitable headache that came from all the ambient noise, so he shouldn’t have been able to pick up on more than a hint of surface emotion. But he could almost taste the other man’s anxiety on his tongue, could feel the stirrings of nausea in his own gut, like a bad meal waiting to come back up.

“Hey,” he said, hurrying forward. “Are you all right?”

Pale eyes snapped over to his. The intensity in the gaze made Charles’ steps falter, and he stood uncertainly by one of the gleaming sinks as the man straightened and wiped a hand over his face, visibly trying to pull himself together. This close, Charles could hear that the stranger’s breath was loud and shaky, not to mention worryingly shallow.

He reached out, meaning to set his hand on the man’s shoulder and maybe turn him enough to give him a soothing hug, if he proved receptive to that sort of physical comfort. But it became immediately clear that he was interested in _another_ sort of physical comfort because his mouth was suddenly pressing insistently on Charles’ mouth and his fingers were tangled up in Charles’ jacket and his weight was bearing Charles back against the sink behind him, porcelain digging cool and uncomfortable against his back.

 _What the fuck,_ Charles thought distinctly, and then that thought dissolved when the man slipped his tongue into Charles’ mouth, licking one hot line along his teeth and tongue. Charles’ knees promptly weakened, threatening to dump him to the floor, but the man’s grip in his jacket and around his waist was firm and desperate. He kissed like he would never kiss anyone else ever again, and his mind was a tangled mess of emotion that Charles couldn’t even begin to pick apart. More than a little mentally and physically overwhelmed, Charles could only cling to his shoulders, fingers scrabbling for purchase along the fine fabric of the man’s dinner jacket.

When they finally broke apart for breath, Charles knew he should use the opportunity to push the stranger away and ask what the hell he was doing, jumping random people in the bathroom and kissing the life out of them like this, but his cock was already taking a very keen interest in the proceedings and he couldn’t think clearly through the fog of lust that bulldozed its way over all rational thought. All he could do was pull at the stranger’s crooked bowtie, eager to taste, eager to touch.

“I’m Charles,” he offered, as he tugged the stranger’s collar open. That made the man pause for a moment, his brows furrowing, and Charles added, “I like to at least know a man’s name first before I take his clothes off. Usually a drink, too, but I think we’ve already skipped right past that—”

The man flushed. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound very apologetic. “I’m Erik.”

“Right,” Charles said breathlessly as he leaned up to kiss Erik’s neck. Erik bent obligingly, head bowed nearly to Charles’ shoulder, giving him plenty of space to mouth up Erik’s jaw to his ear. When he bit down lightly on Erik’s earlobe, a bolt of heat shot through the both of them, like white lightning shivering down through Charles’ core.

“Do that again,” Erik panted, and Charles did, to the same effect. He was painfully hard in his pants now, rubbing up against Erik’s hip. Lips on Erik’s ear, he smoothed a hand down the flat plane of Erik’s chest, admiring the muscles that tensed under his touch. Erik’s hands on Charles’ body had stilled entirely, allowing Charles to take the lead. He pushed forward against Erik’s leg and ran his hand down at the same time to stroke over Erik’s groin.

Charles’ cock twitched at Erik’s moan. It was only a short, aborted sound, but Charles wanted to hear it again and again, on a loop, echoing in his ears forever. Erik was gorgeous, all clean lines and solid weight and beautiful sounds, like an apparition from Charles’ truest fantasies. He thought for a wild second that he might be asleep, but then Erik slid a hand straight past his belt—and how could he have missed Erik unbuckling it—and twisted a bit awkwardly to get his fingers around Charles’ hard cock.

Charles bucked against his hand. No, not a dream. Nothing in any dream he’d ever had had ever felt this intense. Erik’s free hand pulled Charles’ pants and underwear down around his thighs while his other one began to pump Charles with a sure, firm grip, skilled enough to have Charles gripping Erik’s shoulders to keep his knees from buckling.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his face against Erik’s chest to muffle a moan and thrust against the delicious slide of Erik’s palm. It felt blissfully good to just let his mind go for a few minutes, to sink into the pure, pulsing arousal that surrounded them both and just _enjoy_ , without second thoughts, without worries, without considering anything other than chasing the carnal pleasure of Erik’s touch. He could feel his orgasm creeping up his spine, could practically feel it in the thundering race of his heart, spurring him on and on and on and—

Erik let go. Charles gasped, “Please, I’m so close—” but Erik shushed him and said, “I know, please, give me a second, I just want—”

He bent over to step out of his own pants, which were around his ankles, much to Charles’ surprise. He’d been so caught up in the rather spectacular handjob that he hadn’t even noticed Erik shoving his slacks and underwear down. Now Charles could see his cock, long and stiff and straining toward his belly, so magnificently curved that Charles wanted to wrap his hand around it, his mouth around it, wanted to suck it until Erik came down his throat so hard Charles wouldn’t be able to speak for minutes afterward. He was about to reach out to touch it when Erik pulled a condom and a packet of lube from his pocket.

Charles blinked. He’d expected to just exchange a handjobs, pull up their pants, and be on their merry way. He had a wedding to get to—hell, at this rate he was probably going to be late—but when Erik handed him the condom and the lube and said, “I want you to fuck me,” nothing in the world could have stopped Charles from complying.

“Face the mirror,” he ordered as he kicked off his pants and shrugged out of his dinner jacket. His white dress shirt underneath was damp with sweat and probably a lost cause, so he just shoved his sleeves up and tore open the packet of lube. When he looked up, Erik was leaning over the sink, his long legs spread, the curve of his ass just visible under the long hem of his shirt.

 _Christ_ , Charles thought, gripping the base of his cock for a second to stem his arousal. When Erik shot an impatient look over his shoulder, his mind thrumming with a steady, desperate litany of _please, come on, fuck me, please,_ Charles was sure he was going to come embarrassingly fast, possibly right there in his hand.

“Are you going to just stand there admiring the view?” Erik asked after a moment. His face, in the mirror, was red, his hair in a disarray, his mouth hanging open as he panted. Charles wondered for a moment what Erik looked like on his knees. It seemed like a monumental shame that he probably wouldn’t get to find out.

“It’s a very nice view,” he said, generously lubing his fingers before stepping closer. Setting the packet on the sink beside Erik’s elbow, he put his clean hand low on Erik’s back to keep him steady as he traced the crease of Erik’s ass with the thumb of his other hand. Erik’s head dipped at the touch, his panting audible as he spread his legs a little wider. Charles reached lower, smearing a bit of lube against the back of Erik’s balls before trailing back up and bringing his other hand down to spread Erik’s ass enough for his questing fingers to find Erik’s hole.

Erik made a pretty sound when Charles’ index finger circled against the opening. “Please,” he gasped. “Don’t tease.”

Any other time, Charles would have drawn it out. But he was already late for the wedding and Raven was probably going to tear his head off when he finally got back and he really did want to actually get inside Erik before coming, so he pushed his slick finger against Erik’s hole and felt the resistance give gradually, Erik groaning low in his throat at the intrusion.

He couldn’t help but ask, “Have you done this before?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while though.”

“I can feel that. Relax, will you?” He heard Erik took a breath and felt his muscles loosen under Charles’ hand. “That’s good. Tell me if you want to stop.”

 _Never,_ Erik thought, even as he nodded. Charles worked another finger into him and opened him up, trying to go slowly to minimize any pain. The little noises escaping Erik’s mouth were utterly intoxicating though, tempting him to dispense with the prep and just push his cock into Erik’s body, just to hear what sort of noise he’d make then. And Erik’s mind wasn’t any help, unraveling at its edges with enough raw _want_ to make Charles’ eyes cross every time his telepathy dipped into it.

“Enough,” Erik said eventually.

Charles stilled immediately. “Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m—” Erik huffed a laugh. “You’ve probably prepped me enough to get your whole fist up my ass. Just fuck me already.”

On the contrary—Erik still felt too tight around his fingers, no matter how slippery his hole had gotten from the lube. But Erik’s mind was roaring _go go go_ and Charles, addled with lust, couldn’t resist its pull. He removed his fingers, reached for the lube packet, and squeezed the rest of it out to slather on his cock, trying to touch himself as minimally as possible to keep from coming too early. He kept his eyes fixed determinedly on the ground as he slid the condom on and then, finally, he looked back up.

Erik, spread open and flushed, looked like sin. Charles’ head spun as he pulled Erik toward him by his hips and kissed his shoulder, scraping teeth along skin.

“Come on,” Erik said hoarsely.

“So impatient,” Charles answered, but he took his cock in hand and pressed it up against Erik’s slick hole. Erik inhaled sharply as the tip of him slid in, just enough for him to begin to rock. He meant to go slowly so Erik could adjust to the burn, but Erik pushed back on him with unexpected force, taking the rest of Charles’ length deep into him with a smooth glide that startled a shocked moan from Charles, his fingers digging bruises into Erik’s hips. He was moving before Charles was ready, sliding partially off Charles’ cock and shoving back, again and again, rough and fast and perfect. His mind was a blanket of tense urgency, leaking out all over, burning Charles with its touch. He slammed forward as Erik pushed back and the combination of their movement made Erik throw his head back and cry out, sweat running damp patterns down his shirt, his skin overheated under Charles’ hands. The sight of his tanned neck in the mirror made Charles wish he were taller so that he could pull Erik back and kiss the dip of his shoulder, mouth at the straining tendon of Erik’s neck visible just over his crooked collar. He settled for bending Erik further over the sink and pushing up his shirt to kiss the beautiful line of his back.

He should’ve taken Erik’s shirt off, he thought hazily as he thrust deep. He should’ve stripped Erik naked and admired his toned, gorgeous body when he had the opportunity, before they ever got this far. From his varied experience of anonymous bathroom fucks, he doubted he’d ever get the chance again once they straightened themselves up afterwards and walked out the door, staggering their exits to avoid arousing suspicion and to avoid the awkwardness of possibly heading in the same direction. The longer he stared down at Erik’s back, the longer he watched Erik’s slack-jawed expression in the mirror as he fucked him, the more he regretted taking this so quickly. Wedding and Raven’s wrath be damned—he had never seen a man so stunning, never met a man whose body seemed to fit his so _perfectly_.

“More,” Erik gasped, letting out desperate soft noises that set Charles’ blood on fire. “Please.” His fingers were gripping the sides of the sink, white-knuckled, and his eyes, from what Charles could see of them in the mirror, were pleasure-drunk. Charles paused long enough to pull Erik upright and hitch one of his legs up with a hand slipped under his lean thigh, opening up the angle for him to push into Erik’s body. With the new position, Charles could see the reflection of Erik’s face more clearly, his eyes half-lidded and dazed, his mouth open and panting. He was looking back at Charles through the mirror, staring at his face, thinking so fervently about how fucking gorgeous Charles was, thinking _he’s so good, God, I can’t give this up, I can’t go through with this, I can’t—fuck fuck **fuck**_ —

There was nothing in his head but swirling pleasure and heady desire but still those words made Charles hesitate, made his hips falter, and when Erik clenched around him with a dissatisfied groan, he squeezed Erik’s narrow waist with his left hand and managed, “Are you okay? You want to keep going?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Erik demanded. “ _Yes_ , I want to keep going—please—”

Relieved, Charles twisted his hips as he slid deep again and Erik let out a gravelly yell. He didn’t have to ask to know he’d nailed Erik’s prostate and _oh,_ it was gratifying to know that Erik got off on prostate stimulation. Charles had been with several men who found it nothing more than uncomfortable, but with the way Erik was currently writhing on his cock, he figured Erik wasn’t one of them. Pleasure rolled off Erik in waves, mixing and amplifying Charles’ own, radiating down from his chest and up through his groin and all the way out through his fingers, his whole body singing with the hot, slick press of skin on skin.

He felt his balls tighten with impending orgasm and fumblingly tried to free up a hand somewhere to give Erik a reach around, but Erik already had a hand on his cock, jacking himself off with quick, hard strokes. Charles’ arm shook with the effort of lifting Erik’s leg so he panted, “Wait, wait,” and let Erik back down onto both feet, placing his hand onto the small of Erik’s back to push him back over the sink. It wasn’t much longer after that that he lost any semblance of rhythm or control, pounding into Erik with punishing vigor, punching wrecked noises out of Erik that Charles wanted to sear into his mind to remember forever and ever, to power all wanking sessions from here to his death.

He thrust in once, twice, and gasped, “I’m…Erik…” In response, Erik clenched hard around him just as he pushed in and Charles came helplessly, his entire body shuddering with release.

It took a minute for him to come back to himself. He was leaning heavily on Erik, his face and chest plastered to the sweaty expanse of Erik’s back, boneless and indolent. Erik’s hand was still moving underneath them, his chest heaving for breath, and after a moment, Charles reached under and closed his hand around Erik’s fist, pumping together with him until Erik spilled messily over their hands with a little broken exhalation that sounded almost painful.

They stayed pressed together for a while, trying to catch their breaths. Lightheaded with orgasm and exertion, Charles wished they were in bed so he could just curl up against Erik’s chest and fall asleep, as he always liked to do after a fuck as energetic as that one had been. As it was, he just pulled out as gently as he could manage, wobbled over to the trash can to dispose of the condom, and fetched some paper towels to clean them both off.

Erik remained bent over the sink as Charles moved around collecting their clothes. He didn’t want to poke too deeply at Erik’s mind, but he could tell without delving that Erik wasn’t happy with what had just happened. That made a knot of uncertainty twist in Charles’ chest, because that had been possibly some of the best sex he had ever had and he really, truly didn’t want Erik to say he’d regretted it. In fact, he kind of wanted to ask for Erik’s number, which violated his long-standing principle of never asking for the numbers of random sex partners he knew nothing about.

They wiped off and dressed in silence. Afterwards, Erik leaned against the sink again, his back one rigid line of tension as he stared down at the faucets. This was the part where he should leave, Charles knew. He should offer some parting quip, give Erik a cheery wave, and be on his way before Raven murdered him for missing the entire wedding ceremony.

But something about the cagey feel to Erik’s mind kept him from stepping away. Instead, he drifted closer and, after a moment of hesitation, laid a hand on Erik’s shoulder.

Erik stiffened at his touch but didn’t shake it off. He looked…gutted. “Are you okay?” Charles asked carefully.

Erik shut his eyes and shook his head. “No,” he said roughly. “I’m…” He pressed his fingers against his eyes. “I fucked up.”

“Well I’m…I’m here to listen,” Charles offered.

Gratitude flitted briefly through Erik’s head before sick guilt and fear drowned it out. “I’m supposed to get married today,” he said, his head bowed. “In…” He cracked open his eyes to look at his watch. “…less than an hour.”

Several things clicked together all at once: Erik’s tuxedo, his presence here at the hotel, his frantic _I can’t go through with this_. Oh Christ. He’d fucked the groom, hadn’t he? He’d just fucked the bloody groom in the hotel bathroom an hour before the wedding.

His mother would murder him if she ever found out.

“You’re Erik Lehnsherr,” he said thickly, because he remembered the name on the invitation Raven had forwarded him. He just hadn’t connected it to _I’m Erik._

At that, Erik turned to him with a quizzical look. “How do you know that?”

“I’m a guest,” Charles explained, still reeling. “At your wedding. Charles Xavier.”

Erik’s eyes widened. For a moment, his jaw worked but no words came out. What eventually emerged was a weak laugh touched with hysteria. “I guess we both fucked up, didn’t we?”

Charles laughed, too, because he had no idea how else to react. “I guess we did.”

The bathroom door swung open and footsteps hurried down the outer hall. Both of them jerked away from each other, eyes averted. Charles turned on the faucet to splash some water on his face just as a man appeared in the entryway, relief flashing across his face and mind when he spotted Erik.

“There you are,” he said, exasperated. “We’ve been looking for you for almost half an hour. You were supposed to be ready to go ten minutes ago.”

Erik nodded. Outwardly, he looked relatively composed, even if his hair screamed that fingers had recently carded through it, tangling it up in some of the best sex hair Charles had ever had the pleasure of being the cause of. Inwardly, though, he felt so sick that Charles was surprised Erik wasn’t running for the toilets.

“Give me a minute,” he managed.

The man frowned. “You’re already late. Mr. Shaw won’t be pleased—”

“Mr. Shaw can _wait_ ,” Erik snapped.

Charles was beginning to realize there was something very wrong here. “I don’t think Erik’s feeling very well,” he interjected. “Give him a minute?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m, ah…a concerned friend, you could say.”

“This is none of your business,” the man said, striding past him to grab Erik’s arm. When Erik resisted, the man yanked roughly, with a force that made Erik snarl.

Charles clamped his hand down on the man’s shoulder. “I said, _give him a minute_.”

The man’s mind, for all its menace and dark threat, was relatively simple. It was easy as breathing to tell him to go wait outside, to forget any urgency. His eyes blurred, the man released Erik, turned on his heel, and left without another word.

Once the door swung shut behind him, Charles asked, “Are you all right?”

Erik stared at the entrance. “How did you do that?”

Charles feigned ignorance. “Do what?”

“Get him to leave. Janos would never take orders from a stranger.”

“Well, I have a way with words.” He hesitated, then tapped his forehead. “Telepath.”

Erik’s eyes widened, his body stilling. Charles waited for the incrimination, for the recoil and the instant suspicion. But to his surprise, Erik didn’t flinch away. If anything, he shifted closer, brows drawing together as his mind whirred.

“Telepath,” Erik echoed. “Strong?”

“Quite strong, yes,” Charles answered, seeing no reason to lie.

“I know we’ve just met,” Erik said, not looking at him, “but I could use a hand with a situation.” He gritted his teeth. Charles got the feeling he didn’t ask for help very often, if he ever did. “You see, Shaw has a pet telepath of his own, and I’ve dug myself into a hole I’m having trouble getting out of.”

This was beginning to sound more and more like something Charles probably shouldn’t want any part of, but logic felt very far away when Erik’s mind was reaching for him like it was, urgent and beseeching and just the tiniest part hopeful.

Raven was going to kill him for leaving her at the mercy of nosy socialites, he thought. Not to mention his mother, who would probably throttle him with her bare hands if he dared to ruin the wedding of some wealthy family whose favor she was trying to court.

But he looked at Erik and he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. “Okay,” he said. “Tell me what I can do.”

A great, all-encompassing swell of relief swept over Erik like a tidal wave hitting shore. He reached out, grasped both sides of Charles’ untied bowtie, and pulled him in for a bruising kiss that left Charles gasping and dizzy and practically ready for round two.

“Don’t worry,” Erik said, rubbing his thumb along the line of Charles’ jaw. There was a fiercely protective edge to Erik’s voice that made Charles shiver. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Charles wondered what the hell he’d just gotten himself into. When Erik took his hand and pulled him toward the door, he got the feeling he was about to find out.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For Better or For Worse (The Private Vows Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105277) by [pocky_slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash)




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